


The End of an Era

by Arlyshawk



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dreams and Nightmares, Elvhenan, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-25
Updated: 2015-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-23 06:36:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4866791
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arlyshawk/pseuds/Arlyshawk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alysanne's visions begin to bleed into her dreams and she comes to the realization that her dreams are not her own..</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End of an Era

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Kamelot's song, "Under Grey Skies"

There are shadows in her dreams that burn bright with black and violet fire and sing in ruins of shattered crystal. There are bones underfoot that snap and crackle with the sudden surprise of her weight. The Fade bleeds into this ruined world with a magic that makes her skin crawl. 

This is what remains of their people; blood, bone, and cold, broken stone. Alysanne kneels, touching a tiny skull that rolls in front of her and feels her heart slam against her ribs. To fathom that so much death could have happened… It makes her ill to think of it. 

Alysanne groans when Brethil hops onto her stomach. He is far bigger than he thinks he is, she wonders as he butts his great head against the hand she outstretches for him. As she scratches behind his tufted ears, she can see the witchlight that burns in the rotunda reflect pale on his blue eyes like ghosts in a mire. He slinks off of her when he has had enough of her petting and plops down beside her in a purring heap. Looping an arm around her not-so little cat, Alysanne buries her face in the fur on his scruff. He smells smoky, of the black salt she burns when she scries, of the elderberries in her soap that she will bathe him with. 

Beyond him, she can see the witchlight halo around Abelas's form that turns his skin porcelain, veined with faded scars and the lines of his vallaslin drawing cracks on the edges of his face. He is peaceful, sleeping as he is. It's almost strange to see because there has often been an immortal furrow between his brows. She traces the slope of his broad shoulders and the jagged line of a burn scar that Solas gave him at the fight in the Temple. With tentative fingers, she reaches over Brethil and touches the scar gently. His skin is warm, like there are embers under his skin. 

"What troubles you?" Abelas's voice rises from the shadows, dry and cracked with the first word spoken since dawn cracked the sky. She jumps the tiniest bit, choosing to say nothing. He opens his eyes and narrows them at her, bright as beaten gold. 

She chews her lips, "Call me foolish, but a nightmare keeps me awake." 

"I thought your dreams could only be projected into the mirror," He states and rubs the sleeps from his eyes with a hand. "Unless I was wrong." 

"I still can see into memories without the mirror, but often I forgot them as soon as they appear. This one.." The sounds of the bed creaking makes her spine snap straight, the memory of the bones sends a shiver burning across her skin. Brethil moves as Abelas shoos him to the end of the bed, grumbling. 

She slides into his arms, nuzzling his collarbones. He smells of spices that furls around her like great wings. It's fire in her senses, warm and engulfing until she settles against him. There is a safety to him, something she can never quite put to words even if she tries. Alysanne feels his fingers on her back, tracing the pale lines of age across her; fingers feather light as the swirl and curl and line out imaginary shapes or writing. 

Closing her eyes, she whispers, "I apologize if I frightened you. It had not been my intent to do so." 

"It is not that you cannot sleep, _ma vhenan_. It is your body's response to subtle sounds that.. intrigues me more anything," Abelas says carefully, scrawling a pattern on her shoulder blade. "What did you see?" 

"The ruins of Arlathan, of their great crystal spires that were shattered by the creation of the Veil," She struggles with the image of the rifts that sundered the ancient land. "It was like Vir Dirthara, the Fade bled into the place like rushing water and there were _bones._ " 

"That was what the men of Tevinter built upon, Alysanne. They built a kingdom on our bones, much of their land is littered with our remains," And in his voice is a great sadness. She feels him tighten his hold on her, body curling around hers as if to protect her. "You should not have seen such a terrible thing." 

"Abelas, _emma lath_ ," She runs a hand down his breastbone, tracing the line of skin with careful fingers. He trembles under her hand, growing tense but never shying. "That was your memory.."

And then all at once, she feels his hands embrace her to pull her close, closer than she perhaps thought possible between two people. It frightens him, she thinks, to know that all of his kin are dead and the world that he knew is ash. Alysanne runs her hand through his silvery blonde hair and then down his spine. 

"I know it frightens you," Alysanne kisses his pulse point as best she can, tangled with him as she is. "But there is good in this world, my love. The Veil did not rob the world of magic, nor did it rob the elven people of what made them who they are. We are still a great race, perhaps not as well loved, but we are at least living, thriving. That must count for something." 

He says nothing, so she must listen to the silence of the rotunda and the rookery overhead that swells with the squabbling of crows and boots hurrying up stone steps. When he relaxes, she soothes the worry lines in his face with feathery kisses until he lets her curl back into her previous spot, listening to his heart. 


End file.
